


live in my house (i'll be your shelter)

by rainny_days



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Moving In Together, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, arashi are good wingmen, christmas fic a month late lol, even if they don't actually show up, idk man sappy shit you know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainny_days/pseuds/rainny_days
Summary: Christmas starts with the slow seeping of dawn through the crack of their curtains, casting a thin line of gold across their sheets. Ohno’s eyes creep open first, used to waking at dawn from long fishing trips. Nino, ever the late-night gamer, remains asleep beside him, allowing Ohno to trace his eyes over his features without interruption. He reaches for the small notebook at the bedside table, caught, as always, by the desire to preserve this moment in ink and paper.in which ohno doesn't need a Grand Gesture, but gets one anyways.





	live in my house (i'll be your shelter)

**Author's Note:**

> soooooo i wrote this in, like, november, meaning to put it up by christmas, and then promptly forgot all about it. enjoy!

Christmas starts with the slow seeping of dawn through the crack of their curtains, casting a thin line of gold across their sheets. Ohno’s eyes creep open first, used to waking at dawn from long fishing trips. Nino, ever the late-night gamer, remains asleep beside him, allowing Ohno to trace his eyes over his features without interruption. He reaches for the small notebook at the bedside table, caught, as always, by the desire to preserve this moment in ink and paper. 

The scratch of pencil on paper doesn't wake Nino, who’s a surprisingly deep sleeper, and Ohno manages to sketch his bedmate’s slight, curled-up figure, pale against the dark grey sheets and the ends of his elbows colored gold and pink by the early light. Ohno feels a pang of regret for not keeping colored pencils at his side, for not being able to capture the precise color of 7:30am-sunlight-on-Nino’s-skin. The fleeting thought is chased away as Nino begins to shift, ducking his head into his pillow at the increasing rays of light filtering through their not-quite-translucent curtains. Ohno closes his notebook, puts it back, and touches Nino’s temple lightly, questioning.

Nino lets out a soft, sleepy puff of breath, and Ohno can read this small sound better than any book in the world. He smiles, and edges out of bed, quietly padding his way out of the room without bothering to put anything over his boxers. From his periphery, he can see Nino turning to curl into the warm space Ohno left, drawing the sheets over his head until only dark brown tufts of hair and a sliver of cream-colored skin is visible. Ohno tears his gaze away from Nino, slips into their tiny kitchen and puts on some coffee, well aware that Nino won’t be able to claw his way into consciousness without any, regardless of the fact that he’s hinted at his plan for today for days. The smell of their (cheap) coffee begins to fill the apartment, and Ohno carefully fills two mugs, adding sugar and cream to his and leaving Nino’s black. He hears shifting from the bedroom, and smiles, knowing Nino’s beginning to react to the smell of coffee. He carries the two mugs into the small room, where Nino’s already beginning to push himself up by his elbows, dark eyes fringed by his bangs and squinting sleepily at Ohno’s approaching figure.

“Hello,” Ohno murmurs, and Nino holds out a hand expectantly. Ohno hands him his cup obediently, and watches the pale line of Nino’s throat as he takes a long drag of coffee. Lowering the cup as he finishes, he looks slightly more coherent. He reaches out to his side of the bed, grabbing his glasses and sliding them on.

Ohno stays silent, familiar with the predictable stutter in his heartbeat at the painting that is Nino in glasses, and perches himself gently at the edge of the bed. Nino shuffles over slightly, leaning into Ohno’s bare back in a perfect curve. “Ugh, mornings. Is it snowing?”

Morning Nino always spoke like this, in short sentences mumbled into the nearest source of warmth. It’s terribly charming, and Ohno can't help the soft bubble of laughter at his boyfriend’s deep derision towards the early hours. “Only a little,” he answers, when Nino headbutts his back a little more insistently. “We can still go out.”

“We  _ are _ going out,” Nino declares, lifting his head with some sluggishness, boyish pout on his lips. “I  _ planned  _ things. Like,  _ J  _ levels of planning. We’re going out if I have to drag us through a blizzard to do it.”

Ohno chuckles. “If we’re going to be out all day, I want to give you your present, first.”

Nino looks at him inquisitively, and Ohno rushes out of the bed and sticks his hand under Nino’s mattress. Nino stares at him. “You kept my present in my  _ mattress _ ?”

“It’s the only place I thought of where you wouldn't look,” Ohno says, and sticks out his tongue in concentration, giving a small cheer as he pulls out a thin box.

Nino raises his eyebrows as he undoes the string holding the box together, sliding of the box. His face falls into puzzlement, then a dawning realization. “Are these your sketchbooks?”

Ohno shrugs, trying not to let his embarrassment show. “You always say you want  _ Ohno Satoshi _ originals, since they’ll appre- appre- rise in value someday, so I wanted to give you these.”

“Satoshi,” Nino says softly. “You never show people your entire sketchbook. Whatever the page you’re working on is, maybe, but never the whole thing.”

“You wanted to see them,” Ohno says simply. Nino stares at him, then down at the sketchbooks. He touches the edge of the cover with his fingertip, unfolding it with care. He flushes at the page, and turns it. Blinks. Turns it again. And again. And again.

Ohno knows why his eyes are bright with surprise, because it’s the same reason why he doesn’t like handing over his sketchbooks to people. He knows that Nino will find dozens of tiny sketches, ranging from city landscapes to a detailed rendering of a leaf. He knows he’ll find portraits, dozens of them, of Arashi in different positions, tracing out sides of them that the public rarely gets to see. Aiba deep in contemplation over his script. Sho trying to eat his ramen and read the news at the same time. Matsujun wincing as he’s splashed with extra-hot coffee. Nino. Nino. Nino. Again and again, over and over, dozens of Ninos on dozens of pages, easily more than any other subject. Not just his portrait, but the parts of him; the curve of his nose, the mole on his chin, his hands holding a deck of cards, a guitar, a script. Dozens of eyes, unmistakably Nino, drawn as Ohno tries to capture the sharp, laughing quality of his gaze.

When Nino looks back at him, he’s smiling. “You’re so stupid,” he says tenderly, and leans forward to kiss him.

* * *

They don't quite have to go through a blizzard, just a gentle dust of powdery snow that settles on their hair, melts on their skin, crunches under their feet with the barest of sounds. Nino shoves Ohno into his car, one of Ohno’s gifts to him tucked under one hand. He puts the sketchbook in the backseat, and Ohno looks at him, confused.

“I want to keep this with me,” Nino mumbles, and Ohno grins at the flush on his cheeks. He turns on his radio to Arashi songs before Ohno can say anything else, and drives through the powder-white roads while humming  _ Everything _ under his breath. 

Ohno looks out the mirror and doodles on the frosted glass, doesn't ask Nino where they’re going because he knows that he won’t get an answer from the younger boy. But he can't resist teasing him a little. “You know we could’ve stayed at home and kept ourselves warm, right?”

He injects just the right amount of suggestion into his voice to make Nino grin, elbowing him in the side lightly. “Don’t be such a wimp, Leader, if you can go fishing during the height of summer, you can deal with a little snow. And besides, you’re in a  _ car. _ ”

“You didn't turn the heater on!”

“Satoshi, do you  _ know  _ how much energy that wastes? You have a coat on, and it’s insulated in here. You can deal with it fine.”

Ohno shrugs. “I can,” he says, smirking a little. “But I’d rather have a Nino-heater keeping me toasty at home.” Nino actually turns away from the road at that innuendo, giving him a flat look, though his eyes do nothing to hide his amusement, and Ohno quietly basks in the victory of his attention.

They eventually stop outside of a small park, and Nino tugs Ohno out impatiently. “C’mon, I only have it for the morning.”

Ohno follows Nino in obediently, and blinks at the lake before them. Nino shuffles his feet, deliberately not looking towards him.

“It’s not- you know, a boat, but you’ve been down about not getting to fish, so I thought…”

“Kazunari,” Ohno breathes, interrupting him. “Did you get a  _ lake  _ for me?”

Nino flushes. “Hardly,” he says, sharp and flustered. “I just- Sho-chan knows a lot of owners of these ice-fishing places, because he’s a giant nerdlord, and I told him to call them and ask if they could lend one out to us for a morning. Apparently they never have customers Christmas morning anyways, so they said it’s fine as long as we let the fish go after we catch them. I really didn’t do anything- they even gave me a pretty big discount.”

Ohno stares at Nino, head ducked with embaressment, snowflakes dusting his eyelashes as he looks down. Nino is so- so  _ like  _ this, sometimes, both strange and infinitely familiar, so romantic that it takes his breath away. Ohno takes his hand, presses a kiss to ice-cold knuckles.

“Thank you,” he murmurs onto the chilled skin, and feels Nino shiver under him.

“Shut up,” he replies, voice tender, and shoves Ohno towards the small pile of fishing rods.

* * *

Ice-fishing isn’t quite what he’s used to, but the somewhat familiar motions soothes something in him that he didn't even realise needed to be soothed. Nino is quiet beside him, his own rod held carelessly in his hands despite Ohno’s insistent instructions. Every time Ohno looks up, he catches Nino gazing over at him, eyes warm with affection.

“You should be looking at the fish,” he informs Nino, a little shy from the attention. Sometimes he’s struck by the way Nino looks at him, like now, like Ohno’s a gravitational force that he can't help but be drawn to. It’s a little terrifying, to be under the force of a regard that strong, the center of an universe as vast as Nino’s mind, and Ohno wishes he  _ knew  _ why Nino thinks he’s someone worth the weight of that affection, so that he can hold on to it for as long as he can.

Nino smiles at him, a wry quirk of the lips. “I’m not getting anything,” he admits easily. “And I’d rather look at the master, anyways.”

Ohno ducks his head and smiles, pulling up another small, silver fish and touching its scales for a moment, memorizing the way the light draws rainbows over its scales, before letting it go. “Nino’s such a romantic,” he teases. Nino laughs.

“I got you  _ fish  _ for Christmas, don't be dramatic.”

“You got me a  _ lake _ ,” Ohno counters. “Just so I could fish again. You woke up  _ early _ to give me this.”

“Please,” Nino says, sounding pleased regardless. “As if I woke up early for  _ this _ . The day’s not over yet, Oh-chan.”

* * *

After another fifteen minutes of fishing, Nino dusts himself off and stands, shooting off a text from his cellphone before looking over at Ohno. “We have to go now,” he says. “The owners are going to come over soon.”

Ohno puts away his gear, a little despondent, and Nino tangles their fingers consolingly. “We can come here some other time, you massive dork,” he says. “Don’t be all down, we’re going for lunch next.” Ohno perks up a little at the sound of lunch, his stomach making a noise of assent, and Nino pokes his stomach with his free hand, grinning.

They walk hand-in-hand, Nino informing him that they weren't going to waste gas on something this close. After a few minutes of walking, they eventually stop in front of a small ramen shop. Nino tugs at Ohno’s fingers. “My friend just opened this place, and I told her I’d visit sometime.”

Ohno breathes in the scent of stock and spices, feeling warmed at the sight of the steam wafting out from the sliding doors. “I love ramen,” he says, smiling. Nino kicks his ankle slightly.

“I know,” he says, smug as a cat who got the cream, and leads him in. The interior of the shop is surprisingly modern, dark woods mixing with bright metals. A tall, broad girl looks up as they walk in, tanned face brightening in a familiarly Nino-induced way.

“You’re here!” she says, grinning. “And you brought a friend!”

“Hello,” Ohno murmurs, dipping his head. “I’m Arashi’s Ohno Satoshi.”

She tilts her head. “Risa,” she introduces herself, then looks thoughtful. “Ohno Satoshi, huh? That sounds vaguely familiar, have you been on TV or something?” Her eyes twinkle, and Nino snorts from beside him, not deigning to answer. They perch themselves at the counter, and look over the shiny laminated menus.

“Two tonkatsu ramen,” Nino orders without looking at Ohno. “one with extra noodles, for the  _ oji-san _ here.”

“Coming up!” she chirps, sugar-sweet and eager. She reminds him a little of Aiba, and he watches her efficient, if not graceful, movements around her little kitchen with interest.

“You dragged me out on Christmas for fishing and ramen?” he says. Nino smirks, and doesn't answer.

The ramen is amazing, piping hot and savory with pork stock and spices. He’s already slurping the noodles by the time Nino breaks open his chopsticks, and he can't help the noise of bliss that he makes at the taste of the noodles. Ohno wants to tell Risa that she’s a genius, but can't manage to stop slurping for long enough to do so. 

“Slow down, Ohno-san,” Nino says indulgently. “The noodles aren't going to run away from you, or anything.”

“‘S good,” Ohno mumbles around a mouthful of ramen, and Risa laughs delightedly.

“Finally, a good reaction!” she says. “This guy-” she jerks a thumb at Nino. “just nibbles at his noodles like some kind of bird!”

Nino looks up from his nibbling. “Just because we can’t  _ all  _ act like barbarians.”

The two of them finish their ramen in comfortable silence, barely any words spoken between them. Ohno remembers what Nino had written to him in his letter, back in Waku Waku.  _ We didn't need to speak, because we’ve already said everything we needed to. You are precious to me _ . Ohno basks in the fact that this hasn't changed in the almost-decade since, that they’re still eating together in perfect, silent understanding.

Nino checks his cellphone once he finishes, tucking it into his pocket and waving Ohno off as he takes out his wallet. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.”

Ohno chokes. “...sorry?”

“By which he means it’s on the house,” Risa smiles sunnily at them. “Nino’s a friend, and it’s Christmas, after all.”

Ohno breathes a sigh of relief, and Nino scowls. “I pay for things sometimes!”

“Not meals, and not with me,” Ohno points out. Nino makes an annoyed gesture.

“You have so little faith in me,” he says. “Whatever. We have to go anyways.”

“We’re still going?” Ohno blinks. Nino takes his hand.

“Don’t get tired now, grandpa. It’s almost time for the big finale, after all.”

* * *

Nino insists on blindfolding him for this one, and Ohno indulges him with little more than a waggle of the eyebrows. He sits quietly as Nino starts his car again, the crunch of snow under his wheels and Typhoon Generation on the radio filling his hearing. “Is the finale you murdering me? Because that’s what it feels like.”

“Yes, I’m about to cut you up into little pieces and make you into soup. Oh-chan-stew will be the next prize on Death Match.”

“I think I’ll make a great stew,” Ohno says placidly, disregarding Nino’s dry tone. Nino sounds almost nervous, and Ohno can't imagine what he’d planned that would make him nervous after giving Ohno a  _ lake _ . “I’ll taste of the sea.”

“More like the taste of old men,” Nino mutters, and slows the car. “Right, just-”

There’s a few minutes of shuffling as Nino opens the car door, a cold wind blasting in. Ohno waits in his seat until he hears the sound of the door on his side clicking and sliding open, Nino’s cool hands wrapping around his wrist. “Don’t drop me,” he says.

“So little faith,” Nino mocks gently, guiding Ohno out of the car carefully. He pulls Ohno down a path, touch soft and deliberate. Ohno only stumbles twice, and each time Nino steadies him with a hand and a murmured  _ “There, put your feet- a little further- yes, there _ ,”. Eventually, after a few stairs, Nino stops Ohno with hands on his elbows. “We’re here.”

Ohno feels something cool and metal being put into his hands before his blindfold shifts, the soft filtering of light and colors rushing back with his vision. Nino is looking at him with solemn, nervous eyes, and Ohno looks down at the key in his palm.

“Nino…” he says. “I…have a key to your apartment, already?”

“Not this one,” Nino says, and Ohno realises that they’re standing on the porch of a small house. Ohno, mind suddenly blank, silently slides the key in, opens the lock.

The inside of the house is already furnished, cream-colored sofas and pale blue curtains decorating the home. Ohno takes in the piano in the corner of the living room, the fish-shaped coasters on the coffee table. There’s an open bar to the kitchen, like in Nino’s apartment, fitted with multicolor stools and a marble counter. There are stairs at the side of the hallway, leading up, and he can see a few doors littering the upstairs hallway. It’s not a huge house, but it’s cozy. Warm. Enough to easily fit two- or five, even. His eye catches on the framed drawing above the fireplace- it’s a sketch that had been in one of the sketchbooks Ohno had given to Nino, a drawing of Arashi in their hotel room after a concert - their tenth anniversary, he remembers - all of them grinning and bright with joy. “How-”

“Aiba-chan picked it up while we were eating ramen. I put a bookmark on the page I wanted, so he didn’t look through the whole thing or anything. They all helped- Sho-chan helped me choose the place, Jun helped with the furniture, and Aiba got the key made.” Nino fumbles, uncharacteristically awkward. “I just thought- it’s been almost ten years, and you’re still living in your first apartment because you’re too lazy to get another one, and my place is basically a glorified storage closet, and I was thinking of moving out anyways- and even if you didn't want to, you’d still need a key to visit, so-”

“Nino,” Ohno interrupts. “Did you by us a house?”

Nino stops, perfectly still. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, voice like a leaf in the breeze. “It’s not like- I didn't do all of this myself, or anything. It’s not a  _ thing. _ ”

Ohno can't believe how stupid he is. He steps forward, putting his hands on Nino’s face, kissing him until they’re both out of breath. He puts his arms around Nino’s shoulders, folding his face against his pale neck. “I want an art studio,” he says, soft, and feels some of the tenseness fall away from Nino’s shoulders as he laughs and shoves a little at Ohno’s shoulders. “We only need one bedroom, after all.”

“You’ll have to share, then, because I want a music studio,” Nino informs him. “And you know the others are going to crash here all the time.”

“Give them the sofa,” Ohno mumbles, and Nino snorts.

“Imagine trying to give Jun the  _ couch _ ,” he pauses. “So you are?” he hesitates. “Moving in?”

Ohno closes his eyes, and he can see their lives here stretching out before him. He can see himself, painting in a small, sun-lit room, Nino plucking at guitar strings and humming as he types on his laptop. The two of them curled up on the sofa, watching Sho talk about sports and being more interested in the sound of his voice than the actual news. Nino teaching him how to play Niji, how to play Sore wa yappari kimi deshita, how to play every single song that Nino might not have written for him, but has become theirs anyways. Coming back after a fishing trip and curling into Nino’s back as he cuts the fish on their counter. Tugging him up the stairs while trading frantic kisses, their clothes lining the stairs for the next day. Watching Jun’s new drama together and giggling at Nino’s exaggerated sounds of disgust whenever Jun so much as kisses someone on the cheek. His artwork beginning to line the walls besides photos of them, of Arashi. Piles of scripts and magazines accumulating everywhere until one of them decides, half-heartedly, to try to clean it up a little. Tripping on Nino’s gaming wires, stretching out over a much larger floorspace. Getting Aiba to help pick out a few cats, asking Nino if they can keep them until Nino rolls his eyes and acquiesces under the force of their combined puppy-dog eyes. Their memories filling up together, in the space that they would share, for a long, long time.

Ohno pulls away slightly, looking at Nino solemnly. “Kazu,” he says, serious. “You’re so stupid.”

Nino’s laughing, loud and surprised in the way that Ohno loves best, when Ohno catches his mouth in another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> am i capable of not writing fluff? no. no i'm not.


End file.
